33. Ronan
“ C ome on, man. It’s been ten hours. Can we switch it up?” We left Miami before sunrise with our belongings stuffed in the back seat, and I’ve been subjected to Connor’s never-ending country music playlist the entire ride.
“You can listen to whatever you want when you’re the one driving.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “I said I’d drive!”
“Yeah, but no one else handles sweet Darla.” He smooths his hands over the steering wheel of his fully loaded, limited edition red Bronco.
“Am I gonna find you with your dick jammed into the fuel hole one day?”
“It’s too small for me,” he retorts, as if the thought has already crossed his mind.
I shake my head. “If you paid half as much attention to the women you hook up with as you do this thing …” Connor drove Darla off the lot four months ago and has spent every day fawning over her since, polishing rims and wiping off dust that dares to settle.
“I must be doing something right ’cause the ladies keep coming back.” He winks at the elderly toll booth operator as he hands her four bucks, earning her cackle. Cranking the volume up as he passes through the gate, he shouts, “Quit bitching, boss! We’re almost there!”
“Stop calling me that.” My stomach flips with excitement as we head for the three-and-a-half-mile bridge that connects the peninsula to the mainland.
Henry Wolf wasn’t exaggerating when he said he wanted me at Mermaid Beach in three days.
Within an hour of me accepting the position, I was signing my life away in front of an HR manager and choosing my company car.
The deal included a one-way plane ticket, but I decided to keep Connor company on the ride here.
A decision I’m regretting now that my eardrums are threatening to bleed.
But at least the view is spectacular. I open my window and revel in the cooler temps. I won’t let it fool me, though—if the last two days of research taught me anything, it’s that I’ll be spending my days drenched in sweat soon enough.
Connor’s eyes sparkle as we regard the deep blue water on both sides of the two-lane passage ahead, speckled with fishing boats, pontoons, and a few Jet Skis.
Neither of us grew up on the coast, so the sea and palm trees haven’t lost their luster for us yet.
“Something tells me we’re in for another adventure. ”
“We’re in for something, all right.”
A gut full of shame when Abbi appreciates just how wrong she and Henry are about my potential.
“Ronan. Dude . Where the fuck are we?” Connor hasn’t stopped cursing since he turned onto the Coastal Highway—named as such, even though it’s a two-lane road with a speed limit of thirty-five miles and a pedestrian crosswalk every time I blink.
Along most of the drag are luxury beach houses. They go on forever, broken up by a restaurant here and a bar there, and on the other side of them are miles upon miles of white sand beach and water that earns its emerald-green description with nothing more than a glance.
“Turn right up ahead,” I instruct, pointing at the street that leads into a twelve-foot-tall metal gate.
He punches in the code and the gate glides open without a sound.
I feed Connor directions, and he follows them while humming to the music, winding Darla through the community streets until we reach the house wearing the right number on its wall.
I double check the address. Is Wolf for fucking real? This is part of my compensation package?
“Well, damn .” Connor eases his driver door shut. “This whole thing is ours ?”
“No, it’s mine. You’re squatting, remember?
” I’m struggling to play it cool as I check the number in the email for the third time.
I did not expect beachfront and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting this four-story behemoth.
There must be an error. I keep telling myself this as I make my way to the ornate solid wood front door to punch in the code. It works. This is definitely our place.
I lose my cool in the entryway. “Holy shit.”
“There’s an elevator!” Connor echoes my inner thoughts as he jabs at the button and a door opens instantly. He files in. “All aboard!”
“I’ll meet you at the top.” Because I need a moment alone to digest Henry’s generosity and find the trap hidden within.
I take the stairs, sizing up the suites of lavish furnishings and ocean-view balconies off the back, until I reach the kitchen and living area on the third floor.
This feels like something Henry himself would stay in, with all its French doors and high-end appliances and designer décor.
It’s way too rich for my blue-collar blood .
“Ronan! Get up here!” Connor’s voice booms from somewhere above.
I take the set of stairs leading up two more flights and find him standing in the middle of a rooftop deck. “Is this for fucking real?”
“I keep asking myself that. Seems like it.” I rest my elbows on the rail balcony and take in the five-million-dollar panoramic view of emerald waters and white sand as far as the eye can see in both directions. Below is our private pool.
We have a fucking private pool because having the ocean right there isn’t enough.
Connor’s penetrating gaze is on me.
This is going to be good. “Yes?”
“Do you top or bottom with him?” he blurts.
I laugh. “ What ?”
“Come on, man. You’re practically a monk, turning down women left and right. And then you go into a room with Wolf and come out with this huge promotion? Might I remind you that you were a crew grunt days ago.”
“Trust me, I don’t need reminding.”
“So then, what gives? Because I don’t see him doling out special perks to me and I dragged my ass into that cave just as much as you did.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Because of you , not him. He doesn’t even like you. So, what is it? You got dirt on him? You blackmailing him?”
“Shut up, man. As if I’d ever.” I glare at my friend for suggesting it. Connor has no idea what went on that night in Alaska between me, Abbi, and Henry, and he never will. That’s no one’s business.
But the wheels in my brain are churning. Is this Abbi’s doing? No hotel operations director gets a perks package like this. A VP, maybe … but a guy helping run one hotel? Absolutely not. I dig out my phone .
“What are you doing?” Connor’s voice is laced with accusation.
“Calling Red. Either this is a mistake or her husband is playing some sort of game.” He’s right—Henry has never liked me. He’s probably setting me up to fail so he has an excuse to fire me once and for all and not feel any guilt over it. If a guy like that is swayed by guilt.
“Are you nuts?” Connor grabs my phone out of my hand. “You’re not saying a fucking thing! We are gonna live here like two Cinderellas, and you’re gonna pretend like you can do that job until you screw it all up.”
I snort. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You’re welcome. What are friends for?” He slaps my phone into my palm. “Do you think they stocked the place?”
“Who’s ‘they’? The royal ‘they’? Doubt it,” I say but he’s already ambling back inside, surely heading for the fridge.
With a sigh, I check my texts. A congratulatory one from Abbi full of champagne and fireworks emojis, and one each from my mother and Britt, with ten questions apiece.
And the one from Tasha that I’ve read no fewer than twenty times but never answered.
I figured three days and a spontaneous move across the state later, I would have already forgotten about it, but here I am, considering what to say.
Fuck it. It’s not like I’m still in love with her. Time fixed that. Time and Abbi—another woman I can’t have.
Hey, long time no hear. Enjoy your trip to Miami. I just moved to Mermaid Beach. Got a big promotion.
I send it before I can waste another second dwelling on my response. Why I felt the overwhelming urge to add that last part, I don’t know. Maybe because when Tasha and I broke up, she said I wasn’t going anywhere and fast .
Heavy footfalls pound up the stairs. “Nothing in there, and I need chow.”
As much as I don’t want to get back in a car, I’m curious to see what this town has to offer. “Yeah, fine. But I need to hit a coffee shop first.” I gave up a lot of vices, but caffeine was not one of them. The pressure behind my eyes warns me I better get my fix soon.
“They’ll have coffee wherever we go to eat.”
“No, they’ll have swamp water.”
“Dang, you’re whiny today. But fuck, fine.”
I pause to admire the view one last time.
“Pretty sweet, huh?”
“I do feel like Cinderella.”
Connor snorts. “Yeah, if Cinderella sucked her fairy godmother’s dick.”